


whatever (dystopian) garden you may find yourself in

by marijayne



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Badass Katara (Avatar), Established Relationship, F/M, Friendship/Love, Made For Each Other, Mental Health Issues, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Pandemics, Protective Zuko (Avatar), Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, obligations to each other continue through dystopia, sort of but also
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:41:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29387157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marijayne/pseuds/marijayne
Summary: It's been years since a series of pandemics rocked the four kingdoms and Ozai declared war on his own people (and most other people besides). You might say things are in a bit of disarray.Zuko and Iroh are getting by as self-designated caretakers for a small community in the lower ring of ba sing se, but that falls apart with a run-of-the-mill terrorist attack that wouldn't even make the local news (if there was local news anymore).But destiny is a funny thing, and Zuko's heroics land him in the field hospital Katara's been quietly keeping afloat since her clandestine return to the city.~ descriptions are hard, I'll probably try to fix this later but you get the gist
Relationships: Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), Katara & Zuko (Avatar), Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 40





	1. the earthen closet (where it all goes wrong)

**Author's Note:**

> Yes I have other WIP. No, this one would not let go of me until I scribbled out thousands of words and then agonized over revisions. I guess my writers block resolved itself?  
> Enjoy and please let me know what you think.

The tea shop was little more than an earthen closet at the end of a long line of earthen closets. All the shops in the building were long and narrow. Even the tea shop at the end lacked windows. When the weather is nice, they propped open the front door. When the weather is not nice, or the air quality is too poor, or the street out front is too dangerous, they light lamps and make the best of it. They make the best of it often.

Lee and Uncle run the shop with firm rules that no one discusses but everyone somehow knows: the back room is always available for more private meetings. Anything ordered for a child is free of cost. If a Dai Li agent were to ask, no one knows anyone’s names and no one has seen anything worth noting. But Lee and Uncle know everyone’s names, where they live, and at what point in the month their resources begin to thin out. They know who needs what and who might be able to provide it. They know who is most reliable during a 3am emergency.

And so it shouldn’t come as a surprise that Lee knows all seven people who are in the little earthen closet with him the day it crashes down around them: Rona, Cheno, Datam, Longshot, Song, Kyre, and Maki. Lee senses the heat of the explosion before the building begins to shake. Before anyone else has realized what is happening, Lee has already crossed the room to the table where Song sits with her children. They’re laughing at something Maki has said. When Lee scoops Kyre into his arms without comment and turns to face the back room, Song stands and reaches for Maki without a word. Perhaps by then she can feel the ground grow unsteady beneath her. Perhaps she is only running out of trust. At Maki’s small protest, Rona and Cheno look up from their conversation and rise silently to their feet.

Lee may have shouted something, but he needn’t have. Bombings were frequent enough that all lower ring residents knew to head to the back of a shop when one occurred. As food and resources became scarcer, the bombings increased. Always there was some new group with something to prove to someone who wasn’t listening. The Dai Li may have been a terrifying and efficient force, but they cared little to stop the terrorist attacks in the lower ring. Instead, they contented themselves by arresting anyone who fled a bombed location as a potential suspect.

Datam and Longshot were already in the back, and the little community huddled together in the center of the room almost instinctually. The bomb must have detonated at the farthest end of the row of shops - it was taking its sweet time to make its way to their position. Lee could sense the heat of the explosion as it ripped through the walls of each shop, growing closer with each passing moment. He drew the group closer, crouching and tightening his grip on Kyre, who buried her face in his chest.

Bending of any kind was strictly forbidden in the lower ring of Ba Sing Se. If any of the tea shop patrons suspected that Lee or Uncle were benders, they never shared those suspicions. If any of the ragtag family in the back room of the earthen closet that day noticed the globe of flame that encircled them moments before the much larger fireball of the explosion overtook the space, they never told another living soul.

To say that bending was instinctual for Lee was a half-truth at best. He did not intentionally produce the protective barrier, and in that sense perhaps it was instinct. But maintaining it took an immense amount of concentration. Lee had spent a lifetime attempting to master control, restraint, and focus. If anyone thought he would have gotten a break when the world fell apart and there was only Uncle to tutor him, they were sorely mistaken. It didn’t seem to matter that he hadn’t dared to produce a flame for more than three months before that day. Or maybe it did. Maybe it was fortunate that there was so much pent up, waiting for a reason to be released into the world. 

As the full force of the explosion grew closer, debris began to shatter around them. Lee set his jaw and tightened his grip on Kyre, breathing deeply to ground himself. He caught the sent of her hair, and marveled that she would still sometimes carry that sweet newborn scent. It was only last week that Kyre had come into the shop with her brother and parents to celebrate her second birthday. She had sat on a crooked table next to a single sesame cake and beamed brightly, clapping her hands, as her family, Uncle, Lee, and half a dozen other regular patrons had sung to her. Her giggles had filled the tiny space with hope. Lee opened his eyes and looked at Kyre’s black hair, mussed beneath his calloused hand. Lee glanced at Song. Her wide eyes were already fixed on his, even as her small hands kept Mako tucked into her chest. Lee tried his best to tell her, “it’s going to be alright.” He thought maybe she was trying to tell him, “thank you.” But it was hard to tell. Did explosions usually last for hours? Surely this one would have to be over soon. Lee concentrated on his own protective fire, willing it to last just a few more moments, even as he felt the heat of the outside flames lick at his broad shoulders. Lee could sense the intensity of the blast ebbing away, soon the blast would pass them and he could drop whatever protection he was still able to offer. He had to believe that just another moment more and he could usher this group out to the safety of the back alley.

And then it was over. The fire fizzled out around them. Lee confirmed quickly with a glance, yes, everyone was alive and whole. They began to stand and stretch, quiet still, but okay. Lee sighed with relief, or maybe exhaustion. It seemed like such an odd time for Kyre to begin sobbing against his shoulder. Lee tried to move to comfort her, but something, it seemed, was not quite right after all. He couldn’t move to run his hand through her thin hair. Couldn’t see her anymore. Instead, he looked out blankly into the sky, heavy with smoke. Feeling disoriented and so, so tired, he closed his eyes for a moment that stretched on and on into many.


	2. be still my love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko's not very lucid but he remembers a certain water bender who has a name, thank you very much.

Every hospital in the lower ring is a field hospital. Each one a muddy, pungent hodgepodge of whatever debris could be collected and somehow made useful. If he’d been lucid at all in those first hours, or days, or weeks (who could mark the passage of time anymore?), he might have recognized where he was.

Zuko had weathered more than what might be considered a fair share of fever-induced hallucinations and nightmares, both living and imagined. Maybe he should have been able to piece together his situation. He was not able.

Instead, Zuko lived and relived the worst days of his life. Days when “modern medical care” still meant something, despite his father’s refusal to take advantage of it. When those memories grew tedious to his unconscious, it chose to replay the many unbearable conversations he’d had with his father, that summer he foolishly attempted to salvage whatever there was of their relationship. Zuko sat stoically as his father told him that he _would be lucky to chase after the Avatar and his many accomplishments_ , that he _will never be a prodigy like his sister_ , that he was _lucky to have been born at all_ , all while Zuko’s insides set themselves on fire and burned a raging furnace. Zuko bit his tongue while his father raged at him for _failing to take advantage of the situation now that the Avatar was at the same university,_ and _why was he even paying for tuition if Zuko wasn’t going to make the vital connections needed to advance their political goals._

Past Zuko said as little as possible. But in his fever dreams, this Zuko let his thoughts wander to the many things he never even allowed himself to think about during those contacts with his father: that Aang was actually a great kid, hopeful for the future in a way that Zuko could never quite fully grasp but found fully fascinating, that Zuko spent many hours at the house Aang shared with his friends: building plans and prototypes at the kitchen table, trading stories and easy laughter across the fire pit in the back yard, watching terrible movies crushed all together on the couch in the living room. Making _vital connections_ that his father would never know about and never be able to sully. It was just as likely as not that Ozai never noticed the nights that Zuko didn’t return to the luxury apartments that he was renting for the summer. That Zuko would be spending those nights in the presence of the avatar and his companions would have been unthinkable.

Zuko especially never mentioned the avatar’s water bender, although his father mentioned her plenty. But now, in whatever half-alive space Zuko finds himself floating, his father’s diatribes are pleasantly interspersed with memories of coaching Katara (she has a name after all) through chemistry sets at the kitchen counter while he scrambled her eggs, of catching Katara’s eye across a trail as their friends bickered amongst themselves about the fastest way to reach the summit or when next to stop for a snack, of mostly-silent walks back from late-night study groups, their hands barely grazing each other as they made their way home.

Zuko remembers and re-remembers and relives the night she taught him the lullaby her mother used to sing to her, first in water tribe and then in its fire nation translation. The memory is so crystalline that he can feel the whisper of her breath on his ear and the coolness of her touch against his bare back, so strong that he can almost whisper along with her.

_Be still my love, though the waters chill,_

_Though wind may bite, I’ll hold you here_

_No soldier’s burn, no tooth or claw_

_Can reach you here, be still my love_

Zuko’s fever breaks while he is imagining singing with her, certain that he can feel his lips moving along to the water tribe words there in the physical plane. Wherever he is, it is dark, and cool, which seems impossible to his half-awake logic. Zuko knows that something is not quite right. Even though he is sure his eyes are open and looking at a dirty earthen wall, he is equally certain that he can still feel her cool hands on his back. He feels like shit, and the dysphoria is too much to reconcile at this particular moment. His eyes suddenly feel so, so heavy, even though he’d only opened them literal seconds before. Who would blame him for closing them tightly, even as he continues to form the foreign shapes of the water tribe words. When he feels his body shift and his back rest flat against the - cot? table? mat on the floor? - his eyes flutter open at the change.

The eyes that meet his are unmistakable. Wide and blue and tender. Zuko tries to say something, anything. He tries to sit up, and panics slightly when nothing seems to happen. He holds her eyes like a life line, praying to whatever spirit or god might be nearby that this, of all things, is not another hallucination. Zuko swears he can feel the distantly familiar chill of her fingers on either side of his temples, and he falls into a mercifully silent sleep.

When Zuko next has conscious thought, it is that the sun is just rising. Tentatively, he stretches and tests his limbs. He reaches to graze the skin on his back and explores it slowly. It is foreign in a way that is equal parts hopeful and terrifying. When Zuko sits up against the wall, the earth is cold on his bare back but there’s no pain. For the first time, he allows himself the wild hope that those blue eyes were real. If his (admittedly, potentially unreliable) memory of the explosion has any truth buried within it, he should be in much much worse shape.Zuko surveys the tiny room. It is dark, with a single candle burning on a low bench littered with glass bottles and bandages and a bowl of water. He is on a mat in the opposite corner of the room, with blankets stacked beside him. The smooth wood of the door reflects the candle light in a soothing sort of way. There’s a copper cup of water on the floor next to the mat and he holds it reverently before taking a single sip. Zuko has no real idea how long it’s been since he’s had anything to eat or drink. He knows to take things slow. He begins the full rotation of breathing exercises his Uncle taught him, pausing between each one to take another small sip of water.

Zuko does his best not to worry about Kyre, about the others. About Uncle. Uncle who wasn’t at the shop because he was feeling ill that morning. Uncle who would know what to do but more importantly who would know what had happened and would explain it to him in a way that wasn’t terrifying. Whoever brought him here would be back. And if they meant him harm, it would have already come to him. Zuko takes a deep breath and waits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy valentines, my loves, and as always thank you for reading.


	3. a fox badger's next target

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katara travels to SWT and back, serves the sick and broken of the lower ring, assumes responsibility for Zuko's care and does her best to not fall all the way apart

Before they called her “doctor” with a tongue-in-cheek smirk, they called her “Doctor” in earnest. Long before that, they called her “The Avatar’s Water Bender.” That was her least favorite. She and Aang weren’t even together like that. Besides all that, she had a name. She had her own interests. Her own goals. When Aang left the city to take the next step in his Avatar training, it was almost a relief. It was a given that she would stay in Ba Sing Se to go to Med School.Becoming a physician had been the long term plan for so long that no one thought to question it.

Katara had been in her fourth year of medical school when the first pandemic hit, and was close to graduating when the staggering toll on medical professionals began to be fully understood. She’d been accepted for her top match for residency in the South Pole, and what a blessing it was, not only to be home with her father but also to be assigned to a place where community responsibility meant something, a place that had taken strict precautions when the pandemic began and had never stopped. It was a large, regional hospital, with a world-class team of professionals whose passion and idealism welcomed Katara as one of their own and thought nothing of her volunteering for multiple shifts or never talking about her personal life. Sokka caught one of the variants when she was just over a year into her residency, just before the Fire Lord declared himself to be the Phoenix King and then formally declared war on half his own nation and all of its territories. By then, Katara had become a master healer through her bending, and a skilled surgeon and midwife without it. One afternoon, in the middle of a blizzard, her attending had pulled her into a hallway and signed heavily, searching for the right words. The hospital still had a satellite phone, and someone, the attending had never said who, had called with news of her brother’s situation. After a stunned silence, the doctor focused a little over Katara’s shoulder and sighed. “You’ve learned all you can. Go, and may Tui and La guide you swiftly and safely to his side.”

All the borders were still closed. Katara left the next day, guiding her own umiak across the ocean with bending and sheer force of will. Aang met her just outside of Chameleon Bay and flew her swiftly and silently through the night to Ba Sing Se, where Sokka faltered. The virus and its many mutations was still largely a mystery, despite endless months of research and studies, and Katara battled it in a dark apartment with unreliable electricity and intermittent running water without fully understanding how. When Sokka broke through the worst of it, Katara slept for three days straight, sipping broth tentatively offered by Suki and then her brother in a fitting role reversal. Katara had been in Ba Sing Se ever since.

Things are different now, in whatever dystopian reality Katara finds herself living in. So many doctors were lost in the first and then the second wave of the pandemic that she is among the most qualified medical personell left. Eventually the licensing board had granted waivers to everyone in her class, and the class above her, and finally the two classes after her, in a desperate attempt to provide services to the masses ravaged by sickness and war. But Katara never uses her degree. She never even uses her real name. She knows she was something of a prodigy. She knows the Dai Li had been looking for her, hoping to have her serve the upper rings where life looks more like it did before things began to unravel. But Katara will never turn her back on those who need her. And the wealthy and privileged do not need her like the people of the lower ring need her.

Katara practically runs the network of field hospitals on the west side of the lower ring, but a Dai Li agent would be hard pressed to obtain this information from any volunteer or patient who spends time there. There are dedicated volunteers, sure, but everything is transient now, and uncertain as a fox-badger’s next target. Katara manages by quietly raising up idealistic leaders who trust her implicitly and feel no need to justify themselves to anyone else. No one here has even heard of Katara, not even if they think hard to the time _before_ when she had published articles and spoken at international conferences. When she is tending to patients, she wears gloves and a mask and keeps her head down. There are more Water Tribe in the lower ring now than when she was a student at the University, and her dark skin stands out less in a crowd than it once did. But that doesn’t keep Katara from taking precautions. For everyone, it’s best not to draw unwanted attention.

Which is why, despite herself, Katara panics some when she recognizes the burn patient. A contingent of a half-dozen people have brought him here, carried on a makeshift sling, after an explosion of some kind. All of them are talking at the same time and the details are conflicting wildly in their discussion with a beleaguered volunteer.A promising student who had pulled Katara from another patient to assist with this developing situation tries to catch her up. Katara surveys the situation, making sense of very little of what she is hearing. Almost without meaning to, she reaches out to sense any water nearby as a way to try to ground herself. What she finds instead is Zuko. The weight that has been drowning her for years is lifted and she gasps for air before it crashes back down into her chest. She doesn’t need to be caught up. Very clearly, here is Zuko Sozin and, very clearly, he has suffered another burn he shouldn’t have lived through.

It takes Karara two days to move him from the open triage area to a newly open cot in a haphazard and crowded tent to a storage-closet-turned-private-room in the basement of a warehouse nearby. Two days where she is also directing the care of other patients and sitting beside grieving mothers and keeping watch for Dai Li agents and agonizing over the possibility that Zuko may be recognized. She wraps his face in the first five minutes of his arrival, even though the scar there is old and weathered, as a frantic precaution. She doesn’t even have time to worry that Zuko will not survive long enough for her to heal him properly. She certainly doesn’t have time to worry that she may no longer be skilled enough to succeed.

When he’s in triage, she oversees the removal of the shrapnel from his neck and shoulders before dismissing the volunteer with vague praise for their steady hands. Katara personally applies salve to the raw burns of his back in the tent. Its a single step above useless and Katara curses, not for the first time, her inability to use bending here even to heal. Any volunteer could do this, truly, and she prays to Tui and La that no one questions her instance to care for him herself, that no one notices that she doesn’t even pretend to change the bandages on his face. He calls too much attention to himself in any case, calling out through his fever. In the tent, after she’s carefully rolled him onto his side, she sings her mother’s lullaby as quietly as she can and thanks the spirits when he calms. Later that night, when she returns to check on him, she swears she hears him whispering the words back to her. Water Tribe words she hasn’t heard anyone utter in years drift to her ears and leak silently down her dirty cheeks.

The second day she moves him herself to the basement room. She spends all day and the following night there at his side. With the door closed and bolted and the candle burning tentatively beside her, she coats her hands in water for the first time in almost a year and allows herself to sob as she desperately tries to knit the muscle and nerves together two days too late. Although she cannot see the full moon, Katara knows when it rises, fueling her healing. She sings quietly and lets her mind wander and prays and prays and prays that the fever will break. In the tiny space, there is no mistaking Zuko’s raspy whisper, breaking through to replay tatters of conversations and, every so often, a line or two of her mother’s lullaby. An hour before dawn, Katara lets the water fall from her hands and lets her fingers trace the newly pink skin of his broad shoulders, carefully feeling the vertebrae of his spine. When she is satisfied there will be no lasting damage, Katara rolls him carefully on his back.

She is surprised when her eyes meet the molten copper of his, and concerned when his pupils rapidly dilate in panic. She is exhausted, but the water comes easily to her fingertips. Katara tries to fill her eyes with all the tenderness she can muster as she calms his frantic thoughts and guides his mind back to sleep. When Zuko stills, she brushes the hair from his face and prays slightly over his resting frame before wearily rising to confront another day.


	4. when the time is right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko pieces some things together, with an unexpected coming together and an unexpected separation.

It’s mid-day before she reappears. Zuko is still propped against the wall, facing the door, and he watches her carefully as she slips through the barely-open door, rearranging a large old-fashioned market basket to lock the door firmly behind her. She turns and her eyes catch the flame of the candle. He still can’t be sure if he’s imagining the whole encounter. She closes the distance between them, and sits on her knees so close to him that they are almost touching. Zuko feels the familiar hum in his finger tips, the electricity that she sends through his veins, even though they aren’t yet touching. She does not look away, holding his gaze even as she begins to chew her bottom lip.

It is in this moment that Zuko _knows_ that Katara is really here. He knows with certainty that she is gathering and organizing her torrent of thoughts in an attempt to not overwhelm him with a barrage of questions. Katara had once told him it was a habit she had developed for him, and then adapted to all her clinical interactions. And so Zuko waits. He reaches for her hand without thinking, running his thumb over her knuckles absentmindedly before he’s even realized that he’s touching her. But she doesn’t pull away and he doesn’t want to let her go now. So instead he allows himself to marvel at the power and compassion in these hands. He still doesn’t understand fully what happened, or the true extent of the damage, but he knows with certainty that she is here. That she has healed him. That she would do so now, that she would take such a risk, brings up a torrent of emotion that he would rather set aside, so he distracts himself by noting how beautiful her mocha skin and slender fingers are, and he waits.

Katara takes a deep breath to signal that she is ready to begin.”How are you feeling?” she asks slowly.

Zuko sighs. “Tired.” He answers honestly. “Hungry.” He lifts her hand in his and gently turns it over. “Grateful,” he rasps, kissing her palm soundly. When he inhales, the overpowering scent that is so uniquely _Katara_ makes his breath catch in his throat and trap whatever other words he may have offered.“So grateful,” he eventually repeats, kissing her palm again before bringing both their hands back to her knees, where they rested before.

Zuko sees the way her eyes flutter closed and barely resists the urge to hold her against his chest and never let go. It has been so long. He can tell Katara is uneasy. Has he overstepped? Should he apologize? Instead he waits. She’ll be needing to reorganize her list of questions. He begins to sort through his own to distract himself from the ache in his chest and the pounding of his heart. When did she return to the city? Has she found the others? Is she okay? She looks so tired and so thin. Has anyone been taking care of her? Has she seen Uncle? Is he safe? Where has she brought him and can they remain there? How badly was he burned and was any one else hurt? And on. And on.

“I brought you a meal,” she says eventually, hesitating before untangling their hands and reaching over to where the basket lays. She seems to pull out the thermoses in slow motion. There is a squat teal one that he recognizes, and she sets it gently beside her. Katara unscrews the lid of a tall thin thermos and places it tentatively into Zuko’s waiting hands.

“One sip at a time,’ she warns, gently.

“I remember,” Zuko says with a smile.

As they eat, Katara prompts him to take necessary breaks with soft looks and light touches and well timed questions. “What do you remember?” Katara asks softly.

Zuko closes his eyes and thinks. He’s tried to remember since he woke that morning, trying to make sense of the pieces that have started to stitch themselves together. “Uncle and I have, well, had, a tea shop. I was there when -. There was an explosion. I —“ there is a long pause, and Zuko opens his eyes.“I- did what I could to protect them. Did you get any other patients? Were any of them hurt?”

Katara sets her thermos of rice and vegetables down and lays a comforting hand on his arm. “You came with an entire entourage. It appears that the _crown prince_ is still quite the charmer.” Zuko huffs at this and Katara smiles. “They drew a lot of attention. It’s why I found you so quickly actually. Everyone who came with you was a little cagey about what had - occurred. They dispersed pretty quickly after I got there and shooed them away.”

Zuko considers this. “There was a little one, Kyre. Was she hurt?”

Katara raises an eyebrow but says nothing.

“I was holding her. During the explosion.”

Katara nods. “I remember a toddler. There was a woman with two children. They were both okay. Confused. Unnaturally quiet. But they were physically okay. I had Suki escort them back to wherever they were going. Arriving with such a large group was dangerous. For them. Are they -“

If Zuko catches her unasked question, he doesn’t answer it. “What about Uncle?”

Katara squeezesher eyes shut and nods, thinking. “I’ve made it hard for anyone to find you. But Iroh was waiting at - Kyre’s house and talked with Suki when they all arrived there. He knows you’re with me. He gave her a letter for you.” Katara breaks their contact to rearrange whatever is left in the basket and pulls out a folded slip of paper.

_Nephew. Back in good hands it seems. There are some increasingly pressing matters which I have been neglecting. Now may be the best time to part ways. In the meantime,_ _allow yourself to bloom in whatever garden you may find yourself. Be well. You know how much love for you I hold in this old heart. I trust we will meet again when the time is right._

Zuko reads it to himself silently. After several minutes, Zuko nods to himself, carefully folds the letter, and moves to put it in the pocket of his hoodie before remembering he is not wearing his hoodie or even a shirt. This whole time.

If Katara notices the pink dusting of Zuko’s cheeks, she doesn’t let on. “Zuko,” she whispers, “let me check your back.”

Zuko obediently shifts without a word, until his back is facing her. He breathes in sharply when Katara runs her fingers across his skin, gently probing. When she rubs her thumb over the place on his right shoulder blade where a particularly jagged scar used to sprawl, Zuko leans into her touch fractionally. He knows most the scar is gone now. The shock of not feeling it earlier in the day had been jarring. Zuko can vaguely feel a prickle under his skin, moving slowly as if it was searching out something still undone within in. Vaguely, he hopes Katara has not learned a new skill to read his mind as well as his body. There is much, now, that is unravelling and undone within him. She sweeps her palms across his shoulders gently. “Looks like you’re going to make it after all,” Katara says. There’s a hint of familiar teasing in her voice, under layers of weariness. “We should get some rest. Do you want to lay back down or be against the wall?”

Zuko catches the “we” and clings to it as though he is drowning. It has been so long since he’s even _seen_ Katara. Yesterday he didn’t even know if she was still alive. And here she is, his breath hitching and warmth spreading across his chest just from being near her. If she’s staying, he wants to sit up so he can at least have a chance of aiding in their protection if someone tries to come through the door. There is so much he needs to make up for. He moves towards the wall and settles himself there.

Katara pulls a blanket off the stack nearby and wraps it around her small frame. She hesitates as she glances around the small space.

Zuko can’t help but be puzzled. “Katara?” he asks, shifting a little to make space for her beside him. Zuko watches her carefully, his confusion quickly leading to concern. Zuko had never wanted to make Katara feel like she needed to give him anymore than she was comfortable with. Had it been too long? Did she think that he hadn’t tried everything he could to get to her? What if - _Agni_ what if she was with someone else and he had put her in a terrible position. Zuko didn’t dare toput any of these into words.

“Oh, um, I - won’t -“ Zuko’s not sure he’s ever seen Katara so flustered before. He waits while she sorts out what she wants to say. She takes a deep breath. “Won’t, uh, Kyre’s mother object to my sleeping - next to you?” The red of her cheeks visibly grows.

Zuko sits in stunned silence while he pieces together what Katara has said. When it clicks, he cannot catch the sharp laugh that escapes in his immense relief.“Oh! Oh Kai-Kai, no. Song and I aren’t - Spirits, no, Kyre’s not _mine_.” Zuko gasps and composes himself. “Please. Let me hold you.”

Tentatively, Katara sits beside him and lays her head against his bare shoulder. “Is this okay?” she whispers.

_Agni_ , is it okay. Zuko nods into her hair, breathing deeply and feeling himself flush. He has missed the way they fit together so much that he hadn’t had words for the ache until she fills it so effortlessly.

“How long has it been since you actually slept?” Zuko asks her, his voice a raspy whisper. Katara tucks herself further into his side like a little cat. She sighs into his chest when he begins to card his fingers through her thick hair. Zuko closes his eyes and can almost forget all that had happened in their time apart.

“Going on two and a half years.” Katara finally whispers. Zuko’s fingers still. “You?” she asks, her voice heavy with sleep.

“What do you know,” Zuko ventures, pulling Katara closer to him. “exactly the same.”

Zuko imagines that she smiles against his chest, and his hearts swells and aches within him. It has always been easy to be with Katara. To be himself and nothing else. To hold her loosely and encourage her to follow her own path. To be grateful for whatever time their paths intersect. Zuko watches the door until he can feel her slip into sleep, then he allows himself to follow.

When Katara wakes him, Zuko is sure it has been only a few hours. Somehow he feels better rested than he has in a long time. She offers him a shirt from the basket, and then a hoodie, and busies herself with filling the now empty basket with the supplies littering the bench and the floor. The silence between them is comfortable. Comforting, Zuko thinks. There’s a harder edge to her now, heavier armor surrounding her heart, perhaps, but she is still Katara. They never did need to speak much to communicate in spaces like this; a necessary skill developed and honed in a house full of well-meaning but nosey friends. Wordlessly, Zuko takes the basket when it is full and follows Katara to wherever she might lead him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll get back to Katara's POV but I can't stay away from my boy Zuko's head for long.  
> I hope everyone is well and staying safe.


	5. an honest to gods elevator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things get cleared up. and there's an elevator. then things sort of fall apart again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tooth rotting fluff is great but these two had other plans. things sort of take a turn starting here so I upped the rating. thanks for reading.

Katara leads Zuko through a dark maze and stops abruptly just as he feels a slight breeze that must be coming from an exit. “Should I take you back to Iroh? I don’t know where you’ve been this whole time.”

Zuko is surprised by the question. “I’d rather not leave you. If it’s okay with you.”

Zuko thinks something in Katara’s expression softens, although it’s hard to tell in the dim light. She nods. “Stay close then,” she says, already turning towards the night. “We have a way to go.”

Zuko and his uncle knew almost everyone and everything about the three square blocks around their last tea shop, but the moon-lit streets and alleys that Katara leads him through are a complete mystery. Even if he had spent a lot of time in the lower ring before everything fell apart, the landscape here would be unrecognizable. The choreography of the city changes almost daily. Wherever Katara is taking him, it is far from wherever they had been. They walk more than an hour.

Katara enters a dark building from a narrow walkway between buildings and takes Zuko’s hand as the door closes behind them. Deftly, she leads him to an inner room where she opens something that might be a closet. She feels along the wall, and the shelves spring away, revealing an honest to gods elevator. Zuko starts at the sudden movement, swearing. “ _Spirits_ , Katara, I haven’t seen a working elevator in …” he can’t even count the months, so he stops.

Katara takes his hand. “It only sort of works. Come on.”

They step inside and the doors close, sliding the shelves back into place. Katara opens a panel to reveal a set a gears lit by softly glowing green crystals. As she turns a crank in the panel, the elevator shutters to life and begins to descend. The elevator ride is silent. Katara chews her bottom lip and Zuko waits, his own mind a torrent of questions that refuse to organize themselves. When eventually the elevator stops, Katara picks the basket up off the floor and turns to pull the grate open with a small grunt. “Sokka and Suki are here. Toph was here this morning but - you know Toph. Hard to say if she’s still here now. I’m sure everyone is asleep now. We’ll head to my rooms. There’s a lot we need to talk about.”

Zuko nods. Something in his chest becomes lighter, knowing that so many of his friends are still alive, that he’ll likely be able to see them soon. Even with the buoyancy of this new knowledge, Zuko is not prepared for what awaits him on the other side of the elevator. The space is softly illuminated with emergency-style strips of green light, branching off in every direction. Katara leads him silently through hallways and past large doors, until she pauses in front of a door like any other. With a flick of her wrist, Katara pulls water from the slightly damp air around them, sends it into the door, and closes her eyes. A moment later the door slides open, and she steps inside. As soon as Zuko crosses the threshold, the door slides into place behind him. Katara smiles at Zuko’s slightly stunned expression. “Sokka and Toph really outdid themselves with security around here. Only a water bender can open my door.”

The green crystals illuminate this space too: an entry way leading to a small sitting area. Katara turns to go further in but Zuko reaches out to stop her.

“Katara, wait,” Zuko whispers. When she turns her wide blue eyes towards him, Zuko’s heart races, but he forges ahead. “Katara, I tried to get to you. I tried and I - couldn’t. But. I just need you to know that every day we were apart I loved you. I don’t need anything back from you, I just - you deserve to know.”

Katara stares at him in silence. Zuko wishes he could see her better in this liminal space. He wishes he could have done things differently. He wishes he had insisted on going with her when she started her residency. Wishes he had never left her side. When she reaches out to graze the edges of his scar with her cool fingertips, Zuko lets out an unsteady breath that he hadn’t realized he was holding.

~~

They were only supposed to be apart for a few weeks. A month at the most. The Southern Water Tribe had closed its borders to all non-citizens but was considering Zuko’s visa application. Katara had heard encouraging things from the Southern Water Tribe Immigration office, despite the delay. It had been years since Zuko had first applied for citizenship and that had been delayed as well. Regardless, the Regional Hospital was insistent that Katara begin her residency on time. Would they have done things differently if they had known?

Katara remembers the night before she left so vividly. They had stayed up late, drinking good beer and munching on cookies Zuko had made in their tiny kitchen from the odds and ends that hadn’t already been boxed and shipped ahead. They’d only kept the big house a few months after everyone dispersed - Aang to continue his avatar training in the Northern Water Tribe, Sokka to Gaoling where he ran a new branch for his engineering firm, Toph to whatever danger she could drag up in the City. By the time Katara was preparing to leave for residency, the tiny apartment in the middle ring had been their home for more than three years. They had been happy years. Even with the pandemic raging around them, they had been hopeful. When Zuko was by her side, Katara always felt invincible. Like she was free to do anything. Going back to the Southern Water Tribe to serve her people was important, vital even.The culmination of a lifetime of work. Leaving to begin this next chapter of their journey was a celebration. Their laughter echoed through the empty apartment. Zuko would stay with Uncle until the visa application was approved. They spent that last night together with the firm knowledge that Zuko would follow close behind her.

Zuko did not follow close behind her. Almost as soon as she was settled back in her childhood home reports of military exercises in the Fire Nation colonies and surrounding areas began to dominate the news cycle.Sokka began sending only encrypted messages, where he detailed increasingly frantic attempts to get himself and Suki back to the Southern Water Tribe, and then, when that seemed impossible, Ba Sing Se. He had warned Katara that the Dai Li were likely censoring all communication and that she might not hear from him for long periods of time. So Katara didn’t worry too much when her messages to Zuko went unanswered. Her concern grew when the weeks dragged on and his number was no longer in service. Katara listened to the nightly world report with a growing dread. The Fire Lord ramped up military drills in the colonies. Social media whispered rumors that Azula was running her own military campaigns in the southern earth kingdom. Katara asked her father to pull strings at immigration, but when even Sokka and Suki couldn’t gain access to SWT that seemed an impossible solution. In the winter after she began her residency, every news agency still operating reported that the Fire Nation princess had captured her traitor brother in the Si Wong Desert and executed him for treason. Soon after competing reports claimed that Zuko had joined his sister’s ruthless campaign across the Earth Kingdom, crown prince once again. Katara’s social media accounts were inundated with concern and condolences, but no one who was in a position or location to still access social media had any useful information. By then nothing came in or out of Ba Sing Se. Katara had no way to reach Iroh or anyone else in the City to verify the reports. She never received official notice of Zuko’s death, and she didn’t expect to. Who would even notify her? And so she threw herself into her work and hugged her father tightly when their paths crossed and she held on to hope that slowly dwindled until it was a ragged string that tethered her to the happiness she once lived.

But now Katara is in the underground bunker her friend had carved under a fallen city, and Zuko is here, breathing the same recirculated air that she has been breathing for months. She has to touch him to be sure that he is here. She has to touch him to ground herself here before she gets dragged away by the riptide she feels swelling around her.

~~

Zuko remembers the first time Katara kissed him. They were the last to come in from a backyard fire at the end of the failed summer of reconciliation. They had both begun bending to put out the fire at the same time, and Katara’s smile at the realization had shone brighter than the moon and all the stars. Katara had taken his hand as they walked towards the house; she had led him to the hallway outside her door where they stood awkwardly and silently for many minutes longer than necessary. Katara had stood on her tiptoes and kissed his scar gently and firmly, lacing her fingers in his. “You deserve every good thing Zuko, and I hope you find it,” Katara had whispered before stepping back and turning towards her room. In what might have been the smoothest 30 seconds of his life, Zuko pulled her back to him, whispered “I think I just did,” and kissed her tenderly before making his way to his makeshift room in the downstairs den.

Zuko remembers that winter morning when Katara began her second semester of med school. She blew in to the Jasmine Dragon in her powder blue peacoat, her hair long and wild and sparkling with snow. Katara had leaned across the counter to kiss him as he handed her a mocha. In front of a full shop of customers.In front of _Uncle_ , who pretended not to notice but beamed at the next customer in line anyway. It wasn’t the first time she had kissed him. They’d done a lot more than kiss as recently as that morning. But it was the first time she had kissed him in public, and Zuko had been so shocked he wasn’t even sure he had kissed her back. He only stood there, like a stunned turtleduck, watching as she turned and rushed through the crowd to get to class.

Zuko remembers kissing Katara on the tundra, in the moments after Aang had declared that their souls would be entwined for all of time. Zuko had never known that he could feel so absolutely happy. Their ceremony was small, but the cacophony of their friends celebrating echoed around the spaces that used to be hollow within him and filled them with hope. He had kissed her with their future bright and expansive like the arctic horizon that stretched around them in every direction.

When Katara kisses him in the entryway of her secret bunker bedroom, it is nothing like their other kisses. This kiss is molten heartbreak. It is the last day in a year without sun. It is uncertainty with no pretense.

When they break apart, Katara’s eyes are wide and glistening. “They told me you were dead,” she tell him, her voice low and filled with things Zuko cannot untangle. She buries her face in his chest and sobs. Zuko his stunned, but his arms automatically fit protectively around her. All he can do is whisper “I’m here. I’m here,” into her hair.


	6. somewhere else entirely (where it all began)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katara remembers where it started

Even as she allows herself to be comforted, some part of Katara knows that she does not deserve this. Zuko is here. She had always been such an optimist, before, but there was no running from the truth that she had given up. Zuko is beside her like he had always been, and she is, somehow, somewhere else entirely. Something within her laughs bitterly, points out that she is a complete mess. It takes everything she has within her to pull away from him.

“Zuko, I’m sorry. I just need a little more time.”

Katara realizes, even as the words escape her lips, that she is relying on years of trust, she is counting on Zuko to be Zuko, _her_ Zuko. She is trusting him even as the something within her tells her she cannot trust herself.

Zuko doesn’t put up a fight. He barely says anything, just follows silently as Katara leads him though the dimly lit hallways to the common space in the center of what has become her home. Katara leaves him there, not sure what else to say, knowing that whatever she could come up with will not be what he deserves. Silently, she returns to her rooms, exhausted again and unsure of everything. Outside somewhere, the moon pulls at her consciousness, mocking this underground home she has chosen. When she finally sleeps, she dreams of Zuko.

In the beginning, Katara barely noticed when Zuko stayed over. He’d join for movie night or game night or a backyard fire and eventually Aang would go to bed and everyone else would follow until it was just Zuko and Sokka up. In the beginning, Zuko would ask if he could crash on the couch. Eventually, Sokka would just tilt his head towards the basement stairs and say goodnight. Katara had assumed Zuko had bad luck in the dorm roommate lottery - someone who stayed up late watching professional wrestling or was prone to oversharing on social media.Zuko always slept in the basement and Katara’s bedroom was on the second floor. He woke up _ridiculously_ early. She never even _saw_ him, what did she care?

It took a while for her to hear him. Months after he started coming round. The first time, she was in the kitchen on the main floor, studying for an upcoming stats exam. Everyone else had been asleep for hours, and Katara was enjoying the quiet of the big house, the relative calm of studying by moonlight. The relative calm was shattered by a cry from the basement. Katara ignored it at first. Zuko was a private person, he didn’t need her, Sokka’s kid sister, interrupting whatever was happening.When he cried out again (or did she imagine it?), she slid off the barstool and cautiously approached the stairs. Katara descended slowly, telling herself she was not just Sokka’s kid sister. She was Zuko’s friend too. They spent plenty of time together. There was a connection that was - puzzeling? Exhilerating? Caught her off balance? Whatever it was, it was theirs alone. There was no door at the bottom of the stairs, so she couldn’t knock and it felt strange to be down there at night, in the space that had become Zuko’s.

It didn’t take long for her eyes to adjust to near-darkness downstairs. Zuko was there, on the couch, twisted up in the blankets, his limbs twitching slightly. Katara had just learned in her childhood development class that many children have night terrors, and that their adults should not try to wake them from these experiences. She wondered, as she got to the couch and pulled at the afghan that was draped across the back, if it was the same for adults. In any case it didn’t seem wise to try to untangle the blanket he had started with. Silently, she leaned over to lay the afghan over him.

“No!” Zuko suddenly called out, shifting rapidly so that he faced out into the room. Katara instinctively jumped back, like a cat caught by a porch light, breathing heavily. When nothing else happened except for Zuko’s own labored breathing, Katara crouched down and peered through the darkness at him. Zuko’s face was contorted, twisted in a grimace that somehow accentuated the scar across his cheek and made Katara’s heart ache. His hair stuck to his brow in uneven clumps. It didn’t feel right to touch him like this, so she bent the sweat from his hair and knelt beside the couch. Zuko continued to struggle through sleep, and almost without deciding to, Katara heard herself sing the first song that came to her - a lullaby that her mother used to sing. Katara’s voice was low and soothing, and she watched closely as Zuko’s fists and face eventually relaxed, and his breathing grew more steady. Katara sang and she waited, and when she was satisfied, she slowly rose and made her way back to her own room two floors above.

As she walked through the still house that first night, she wondered how long Zuko had been having nightmares. If they were part of why he was staying in their basement more and more frequently. She wondered at the scars that she had tried not to notice, a fractured map scattered across his shoulders and back and chest. She wondered at the paths that had led to each one, and if one day Zuko would tell her the stories locked inside them.

Much later, when Katara started waking from her own nightmares in the Southern Water Tribe, it was her father who sat beside her. His first inclination was also to sing. Hakoda would sing the old songs in his deep, steady voice, and most times Katara would allow herself to drift back to sleep. Once, he sang Kya’s lullaby, and Katara had only wept, fully awake, her shoulders convulsing as she thought about all those nights she had knelt beside Zuko, not knowing - not even suspecting until it was too late - that the words of her mother’s lullaby were stitching him to her with knots that she would never quite learn to untie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I _know_.  
> I'm sorry for this detour for Katara. She's having a bit of a rough go.   
> Zuko gets a real long chapter next, and then we're almost caught up to where I'm writing so updates might slow down. Thanks for reading!


	7. this is going to sound impossible (doesn't everything at this point?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko remembers some things and starts to make sense of his current situation

Being on a couch surrounded by the scent of his friends is oddly grounding. Things were simpler then, when this was his regular practice. The world was less complicated. _They_ were less complicated. Zuko wishes he could tell his past self to stick with it. That so many beautiful, terrible things were ahead of him. When he sleeps, despite everything, the memories that haunt him are good ones.

Zuko had known the group almost a year when he jolted awake one night, certain that his father had somehow discovered this alternate life that Zuko had so painstakingly kept from him. The fire daggers were held at his chest in a defensive stance even before he had fully come to himself. “Spirits, Agni, _Fuck,”_ he swore, eyes darting around the dark room.

Someone was there with him - he _knew_ it, and it took him a moment to reconcile what he was actually seeing - wide eyes, a frizzy halo of hair illuminated by the fire blazing in his fists - with the mental imagery that had plagued his sleep.Zuko blinked. “Fuck. _Katara?”_

Her voice was shaken but still gentle. “I’m here.” She swallowed. “I’m not going to hurt you.” she said it slowly. Cautiously.

“Fuck, Katara I know that.”

Katara swallowed again and looked pointedly at the daggers, still flaming in his fists. Their light reflected in her dark eyes. Zuko looked down at his bare chest, his fists, the flames, as if seeing them for the first time. The room went dark as he dismissed the daggers. Zuko brought a hand to the back of his neck and rubbed as if to ground himself, willing his breathing to slow.

“How long have you been here?” Zuko asked, not looking at her.

“A few months.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“What? Did you say a few _months?”_

“Maybe. Yes.”

Zuko was not awake enough to process this unexpected answer. Instead, he shifted to face Katara. The moonlight was filtering through the basement window and he had the absurd thought that she was lovely in the moonlight, with her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling. But there was something in her expression that he’d never seen before, just below the surface of surprise, and it took him a while to place it.

“I scared you. Katara, I am so sorry.”

His words broke something within her, and a torrent of words tumbled out of her to the space between them.“Oh, Zuko, no, _I’m_ sorry. I’ve never touched you before, I swear, but I didn’t know what else to do. It seemed like you were in so much pain, and I couldn’t - I couldn’t let you suffer. I’m sorry.” Katara stared at him, her eyes still wide. An ocean swirled in those eyes, and Zuko tried to read the different currents: surprise, genuine remorse, what he dared to hope was care or at the very least concern.

“Katara. Hey, Katara, its okay. Look, we’re okay.” Katara’s eyes narrowed for a moment at the “we’re.” Zuko’s mind raced at how to proceed, at the absurdity of his attempts to comfort _her_ after _his_ nightmare. At how absolutely beautiful she was. At how she looked somehow both fragile and defiant. “Hey, do you want to come up here with me?” Zuko asked, looking out towards the other end of the couch. Embarrassment overtook him as soon as the words escaped his desperate thoughts. He didn’t see her minute nod, and was startled when she cautiously sat beside him, knees up by her chin.

“We’re okay?” Katara asked, leaning into him a little.

Zuko both marveled and hated the way her voice sounded so fragile. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his chest, grateful for the weight of her grounding him there. “Yeah, we’re okay,” he whispered into her hair. The intimacy of the moment struck him then, her cheek against his bare chest, the house silent around them. In the many months that he had spent with the group, he had leaned a lot about being a good friend, about comforting touches and hugging for reassurance. Everyone in this house touched more than he ever thought possible. But the tightness of his chest and the sudden urge to kiss the top of Katara’s head made him suddenly very concerned that he had crossed a friend line that was still unclear to him. “Is _this_ okay?” Zuko rasped.

Katara let out a breathy laugh, and Zuko’s heart seized. “Yeah,” Katara said, and Zuko swore he could feel her smile against his chest. “Yeah, this is okay.” Zuko felt her breathing slow, his own tension relaxing alongside her.

Zuko waited a long time, building the courage to say what he wanted to next. “What did you mean you’ve been here a few months?” He asked. He halfway hoped she was asleep.

Katara’s response was slow, almost heavy. “You cry out sometimes. It helps, I think. When I sing to you.”

Zuko held her closer to him almost involuntary. “Will you sing to me now? When I can remember?”

And Katara did. Zuko closed his eyes and listened carefully, and it felt like being wrapped in a familiar blanket. It was the best thing he had ever heard. He had wanted to stay in that moment for as long as he could - forever if it was possible - but he felt himself slide gratefully back into sleep.

The tug of the rising sun is so faint that Zuko almost doesn’t wake, and he wonders again how far underground he is. The earthen bunker is unnaturally still around him, and he reverts easily to stealthy morning routines. Zuko’s meditation is difficult, with so many questions demanding to be considered. Finally, he folds the blankets and begins his search for the kitchen. The green crystals glow gently in every direction, and it doesn’t take long for Zuko to find it. He is well into his search for necessities to make tea when a voice behind him stops him cold.

“Sparky?” her voice is tentative in a way Zuko is not sure he has ever heard Toph sound.

Zuko turns to his left, where he thinks the sound had come from, but there’s nothing there, and Zuko curses his impaired hearing and the hopeful leap that his heart had taken.

Toph has always been quick and stealthy, and Zuko is startled by her vice like grip around him. “Sparky?” she whispers again, her head buried in his chest.

“Hiya Toph. I missed you. So. Much.” Zuko says, clasping the younger girl to him, unsure if he’s going to laugh or begin crying.

“We thought you were dead,” Toph says after a while, loosening her grip around him.

“I heard.” Zuko says, squinting in thought. “I guess that explains why Uncle and I were able to stay out of the Dai Li’s path for the most part.”

“You were with Uncle?!” Toph jumps up to sit on the kitchen counter. “Is he here too? I didn’t feel him.”

“I was. Since Katara left. But - I’m sorry Toph. He’s not here. Some - stuff happened and we got separated.” Zuko scoops the tealeaves into the tea pot, fills it with water, and heats it between his palms.

“Katara told us about the explosion. Everyone else was worried you were going to kick it.Again. Well. You know.”

“Not you though?”

“Nope. Never. You’re indestructible, just like me.”

Zuko smirks at that, even though he knows she can’t see him, and hands Toph a tea cup.

“Toph, I’m really glad you’re okay.”

“Ha! I never said that. All of us are pretty fucked up honestly. But, hey, I did make this unbelievably badass bunker though. What do you think?!”

Zuko allows a small chuckle. “The parts I’ve seen are really badass. Will you show me around later?”

“For sure. Then we’ve got to figure out how to expand this fucker so you’re not sleeping on the couch for years again.”

“Deal. Can I make you breakfast?”

“Sparky, you know you can. Follow me, I’ll show you were we keep the really good stuff for special occasions.”

Suki and Sokka manage to wander in just as breakfast is ready, and the four friends share a quiet but comfortable meal. Zuko pretends not to notice the glances that the others give each other when time drags on and Katara doesn’t appear. After, Zuko heats the water in the basin and begins to wash dishes. Suki waves him away, and Zuko wanders around the kitchen a little aimlessly, picking up things and sitting them down. There’s the teal thermos he used to pack Katara a bento lunch earlier this morning, while the rest of breakfast was still coming together. The familiar rhythms of preparing her a meal to take out into the world were a welcome tether to the life they used to share. Almost reverently, Zuko holds the little teal container to his chest and ferries it to the corner of the counter where Katara might see it when she wakes up, when she leaves for the day. Zuko leaves it there, a silent message, a whisper to remind her that he is here. That he loves her. That he’ll wait as long as it takes. Maybe he hesitates a little too long at the counter then, tapping his long fingers on the stone.

Toph pulls him out of his thoughts and begins her promised tour, a running commentary of the last few years while wandering around the bunker with Zuko, pointing out the various rooms and workstations. They end in Sokka’s workshop, where prototypes and loose papers litter the earth tables and countertops. It’s strangely comforting. With its high ceilings and many more green crystals here, it’s easily the brightest room Zuko’s seen.

“You really did a great job with all this,” Zuko says.

“I am pretty impressive,” Toph says with a mischievous grin. “But honestly, this next part is going to blow your fucking mind. Follow me.”

Toph leads Zuko to the back of the workspace and around a corner that Zuko hadn’t realized was there. There’s a dark hallway and a few more turns before a smaller room. Zuko can hear Sokka and Suki laughing just before he and Toph step into the space.

“Zuko!” Sokka jumps up from the stone stool he was perched on to greet his friend. He rocks on the balls of his feet a little. It makes Zuko chuckle, the intense familiarity of it.

“Hey buddy! What’s all this then?”

“Zuko, man, this is. Wow, okay, how do I even explain?” he looks at Suki who beams at him.

“Well, there are a few things of note here. For one, Sokka built a generator with Toph.”

Zuko looks rapidly at all three of his friends. Katara’s absence strikes him then, a pinch in his chest that he tries to dismiss. “I’m sorry a what now?”

“A generator Sparky, keep up.”

“Sokka, Toph, that’s amazing, how’d you even - is it running?”

“It’s horribly inefficient actually, maybe you can help me trouble shoot a few things I’ve been working on.” Is Zuko imagining that his friend is blushing?

“Yes, a generator. And why,” at this Suki strokes her chin in thought, eyes sparkling as she looks at Sokka “would you be _compelled_ to create a generator back here Sokka?”

“Actually that’s the really exciting part. We - “

“By which he means me.”

“Yes, sorry, _Toph_ somehow managed to run fiber from the Upper Ring.”

“Fiber? As in internet? You have an outside connection? Agni. _What?_ ”

Suki just nods, “I know. _I Know.”_

Zuko and Uncle had lost power in their home almost two years ago. He can’t think of anywhere in the lower ring that’s had an electrical source for more than 18 months. But to have access to any internet - let alone open internet from the upper ring - that was something that the Dai Li removed even before Katara left. Zuko tries to prioritize his questions.

“What do you do with it?”

Sokka is still bouncing a little, moving panels around. Toph steps behind him and starts bending portions of the wall, slowly at first until the gears gain momentum. Sokka opens a laptop that Zuko hadn’t registered on the counter behind him.

“This is going to sound impossible,” - Zuko raises his one eyebrow to that, and generally gestures around him. _Everything_ in the last two days has been impossible. Sokka is undeterred, “sure. But there’s a network of people who are still working for balance and I guess we’re all part of them now. So once every two days we pass news and messages in and out of the lower ring.”

Zuko eases himself down onto one of the stone barstools, shaking his head, watching each member of the little team focus on their task. Toph bends the generator. Sokka types away on the laptop. Suki sketches notes over Sokka’s shoulder and calmly reads to him from another notebook. A comfortable silence settles over them, the generator rumbling steadily with Toph’s encouragement. Zuko watches them work and thinks about nothing and everything and soaks in being with them again.

When their work is done, Suki asks to show Zuko the garden and Toph and Sokka decide to come along. “Are you going to send news about me?” Zuko asks when there is a lull in their banter.

“That depends,” Sokka says, dropping Suki’s hand and turning to face Zuko. “Do you want us to?”

Zuko considers this. “I never got news about my, uh, death so I guess I don’t know what’s out there. But uh, if you do, could you maybe not say anything about Uncle?”

Sokka laughs at this and Suki nudges him playfully. “Dude,” Sokka says, trying to be serious. “General Iroh’s managed to control news about his - and your- whereabouts so far, and I’m not about to mess with that. We’re just cogs but your uncle is next level.”

Zuko considers this and nods. He wishes he had a way to ask Uncle what to do next.

“I think Katara might not forgive me, and I’m not entirely sure what I’ve done.” He says it to everyone and no one, just to get it out of his mind and into the universe. Tt’s Suki who steps towards him and sets a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Oh honey,” Suki says with a deep sigh. “Katara’s been through a lot since you were separated. And you know how hard she’s always been on herself. I don’t know what will happen. But I know that what you and Katara had was the real deal. And somehow you always knew what she needed. Trust yourself. And trust her too. It’s been a really hard few years.” Suki squeezes Zuko’s shoulder and begins to walk backwards.

Sokka takes Suki’s hand and leads them through the tunnels.

Toph punches Zuko on the shoulder as she walks past.

It’s almost just like old times.

Zuko falls into rhythms. He has always benefited from making order out of whatever life has given him. He rises first, meditates in the semi-dark, folds the blankets on the couch, makes Katara a bento, fixes breakfast for everyone else. Katara sleeps late but the others emerge around the same time, gathering around the breakfast table and easily falling into old references between cautious exchanges about how the last four years have played out. Zuko ventures up to the surface at least once a day, gathering vegetables from the hidden rooftop garden or delivering supplies where Sokka tells him or just wandering around the neighborhood, his hood up and his hands sunk deep in his pockets.

And then there is Katara. Katara who is a vision, even when he only catches her from the corner of his eye. Katara who sometimes startles when she notices him in a room. Katara who elicits the same reaction in his betrayer body. Katara who tests being around him like he is a leopard shark in shallow water. Zuko watches as his friends silently rally around her with confidence and grace, quiet sentries to her many moods. When Zuko walks aimlessly through the tunnels or carefully on the surface, he thinks about Katara. He thinks about what Suki said to him that first day, and he puzzles through how to show her he trusts her. How to show her that she can still trust him. In so many ways it is like starting over. He has always been careful with her. She has always been something precious. Their give and take, their push and pull, has always been something he intuits more than understands. It is difficult to trust himself to do the right thing. But he doesn’t have another choice that he can see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for reading and commenting. I hope you have a great week ahead of you.


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